


Re-writing History

by Jaiden_S



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaiden_S/pseuds/Jaiden_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rúmil takes the stage. The twins take notice. History, discretion and propriety take a leave of absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-writing History

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Re-writing History  
> Author: Jaiden_s  
> Contact: jadedone23 at gmail dot com  
> Beta: Kenaz  
> The request:  
> Elladan/Elrohir/Rumil or Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas, Besotted and persistent twins. A distressed, worried Elrond & court in full pageantry. A wig and a scandalously short dress. Oh, and boots! Boots are a must!  
> Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Rumil  
> Rating: R  
> Warnings: AU, Humor, Slash  
> Summary – Rúmil takes the stage. The twins take notice. History, discretion and propriety take a leave of absence.
> 
> Notes: In lieu of courtly pageantry, I went with an over-the-top birthday party and a ridiculous play. It was the only way I could get Rúmil to wear the dress.  
> Song excerpt - (J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Song of Luthien and Beren”)

~*~  
  
“I look like a road whore, straight off the streets of Bree,” Rúmil whined as Haldir readjusted his long, dark wig. It had been on his head for less than five minutes and it already itched.  
  
“Just go with it,” hissed Haldir in reply. “It has to be you. Nobody would believe me as Lúthien, not with these thighs, and there isn’t anyone else who can sing. Just get out there, sing the song, and prance off stage. The whole thing will take a grand total of three minutes, and you’ll be done with it forever. Besides, what is the worst thing that could happen?”  
  
Rúmil tugged hard at the back of his wisp of a skirt wondered how in the blue hell he always managed to find himself in such dire situations. He hadn’t wanted to come to Rivendell in the first place, but Lord Celeborn insisted that he and Haldir make the journey as escorts for Galadriel, who wanted to attend little Arwen’s tenth birthday party.  
  
As usual, it was a horrible journey. Galadriel’s bunions needed rubbing each night, and Haldir had a way of disappearing just after mealtime so the task fell to Rúmil. Somehow, he doubted that bunion rubbing was in his job description. Declining to rub, however, was simply not an option. He had seen Galadriel pissed off. It still gave him nightmares.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the Last Homely House to a scene of utter chaos. Celebrian had envisioned an elaborate party themed around the epic love story of Lúthien and Beren, and had whipped the entire household staff into a frenzy to make her vision become reality. The highlight of the party was to feature a short play with elaborate costumes and lively songs. She quickly delegated the job of director to her husband so that she could focus on food and decorations. It seemed like an easy task to handle, but Elrond knew nothing about stage direction or assembling a competent cast of actors, so when his lovely lead actress fell off the stage and into the orchestra pit during dress rehearsal, the whole thing fell apart. He was a frazzled mess.  
  
Haldir, ever the task master, seized control of the rapidly spiraling debacle and managed to snatch it back from the brink of complete disaster. With a firm voice and a clear vision, he rounded up the motley crew of volunteer actors and assumed the director’s role. Elrond sank weakly into a nearby chair, content to let someone else deal with the fallout. After all, he had to deal with Celebrian. That was fallout enough.  
  
Much to Haldir’s chagrin, there were no alternates who could both act and adequately sing Lúthien’s final song. The only other female in the entire production acted well enough, but could not carry a tune in a bucket. Haldir scowled. Lúthien, perhaps the most beautiful Elf in the history of Arda, could not be portrayed by a muscle-bound soldier with a chin full of stubble and feet the size of small canoes. He had only one choice: give the speaking role to the female alternate and the final song to…Rúmil.  
  
So, after a barrage angry threats and outraged insults, Rúmil found himself waiting backstage, clad in an ill-fitting wig, knee high boots and a skirt short enough to make a sailor blush. And, to make matters worse, there in the front row sat Elrond’s twin sons, licking their chops like a couple of hungry lions awaiting a wounded antelope. Haldir had already warned him to stay away from Elladan and Elrohir, but, frankly, he didn’t need to be warned. He already knew they were dangerous. Their notoriety now reached legendary proportions, and it would not do for one of Lady Galadriel’s guards to sleep with her grandsons. Rúmil closed his eyes and prayed to every heathen god he could remember that the earth would miraculously open up and swallow him whole. He did not want to go on stage, not looking like a cheap tart and certainly not in front of those scandalous twins. Even the infamously raunchy Rivendell guards spoke of the twin’s indiscretions with awe. Rúmil knew deep down in the pit of his stomach that he was next on their list. He had felt their eyes on him, seen they way they mentally undressed him. The thought made him shiver.  
  
In fact, he shivered so hard that he completely missed his cue. Haldir barked at him from behind and gave him a hard shove onto the stage. “Get out there!”  
  
Rúmil tripped out onto the hardwood floors, his heeled boots skidding on the slick boards. Although he managed to avoid a tumble, he did provide those guests in the front row an unexpected flash of his backside. He tugged his skirt back in place, cleared his throat and began to sing.  
  
 _“The leaves were long, the grass was green,  
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,  
And in the glade a light was seen  
Of stars in shadow shimmering.  
Tinúviel was dancing there  
To music of a pipe unseen,  
And light of stars was in her hair,  
And in her raiment glimmering.” _  
  
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a pointed look then turned their full attention to Rúmil, who squirmed under the weight of their gazes. He did his best to stay focused and not think about what they would probably do to him once the song ended, but the strain was evident in his voice. Twice it cracked as he tried to hit a high C. Twice he saw Haldir flinch out of the corner of his eye, but he did not dare chance a glance down at the front row. Not until he was finished, anyway.  
  
Thankfully, the audience erupted into spontaneous applause at the end of his song. Rúmil smiled with giddy relief… but relief was short-lived. The twins’ seats were empty. Blast! Suddenly, he wished he could remain on stage. Perhaps the audience could be persuaded to entertain another song? He took a deep breath and was just about to launch into a second, impromptu tune when the long arm of Haldir reached out to yank him offstage.  
  
“You did great,” Haldir hissed from the alcove. “Now get off!”  
  
“Don’t worry. We’ll get him off,” said Elladan with a grin as wicked as Sauron himself. Rúmil paled. The twins were backstage. Both of them. And they looked like sin in pants. Eru, help him. Before he could so much as squeak, the twins had him by the elbows and half-dragged him to the prop closet. The moment the door clicked shut, they pounced. Rúmil never stood a chance.  
  
“I never knew you were a thespian,” Elladan purred into Rúmil’s pointed ear as he pressed the helpless Elf against the wall.  
  
“Oh, I’m not,” Rúmil gasped in reply. “I’m Silvan.”  
  
Hands were everywhere, teasing, touching, coaxing little moans and sighs from Rúmil’s parted lips. The wig tumbled to the ground and his own silver hair spilled over his bare shoulders. When had his dress been removed? He couldn’t quite recall, but it lay in a wad at his feet. One twin showered his neck and shoulders with warm kisses while the other nibbled a lazy trail up the inside of his thigh. Oh, they were good. By the time warm lips mouthed over the bulge in his undergarments, he knew he was lost.  
  
The twin at his feet – Elrohir, as it turned out – slid his fingers under the band of his undergarments and eased them downward. Rúmil flinched as the cool air kissed his hardening flesh. “I suppose you want me naked and writhing before you’re finished.” It was an educated guess, especially since he was already half-way there.  
  
“Absolutely not,” said Elrohir while delicately licking his most sensitive areas. “You can leave your boots on.”  
  
The next several minutes were a blur of wicked licks, fevered kisses, wanton fingertips and aching delight. Rúmil gave himself over to them, powerless against such a sweet assault.  
  
“Mmm. I have an idea for a new scene, Lúthien” Elladan murmured against Rúmil’s kiss swollen lips. “I’ll be Celegorm and carry you back to Norgothrond, which, by the way, happens to be located in my bedroom.”  
  
Rúmil nodded in a haze of lust and desire. Screw Haldir and his warnings. He had rubbed bunions for the last week. He deserved some fun. “Yes…mmm…but what about Elrohir?”  
  
“No worries. I’ll play Curufin, or maybe even Huan, the hound,” Elrohir said with a grin. “If you’re good, I’ll wag my tail for you.” To emphasize his point, he gave his hips a seductive little shake.  
  
Rúmil struggled back into his dress for the mad dash to Elladan’s bedroom. “I’ve always wondered about what exactly happened between those three.”  
  
“Hot, steamy sex,” Elladan said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Why else would she stay so long? Come on. Let’s rewrite a little history.”  
  
~*~  
  
The end


End file.
